


Misplaced Affections

by Buttsandstuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, I'm gonna fix it if I decide this is more than a one shot, It hurts a bit, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Stoner Castiel, Top Cas, more tags to come, okay it hurts a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 08:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15681873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttsandstuff/pseuds/Buttsandstuff
Summary: Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester, Have been dating for 5 years, Two of which have been rough, particularly on Dean.





	Misplaced Affections

Dean heard Cas’ keys in the door, a jarring sound in the quiet of their small apartment. He jumped slightly, quickly pouring just a little more liquor into his beer bottle, before slipping the half empty handle of jack back into its hiding place in the back of the ‘pots n’ pans’ cabinet. Cas would be none the wiser, it's only one beer after all. Plus a little hair of the dog to top it off. Dean quickly switched gears, putting on the cockiest smile he could muster while he finished plating dinner. He checks the clock quickly, it's well past midnight, later then cas normally gets home.

“Dean? I’m home.” Cas called from the entrance way. He could hear Cas shuffling, removing his shoes and hanging his light jacket on one of the hooks in the hall.

“I’m in the kitchen!” Dean calls back, pumping what he hopes is convincing cheer into his voice. He’s happy to see cas, he really is, it's just easier with booze. “How was work?” He still looking down at the plates, fiddling with the position of the chicken in reference to the broccoli and mashed potatoes, giving himself just a little more time to play pretend in his head, that his life is something different then it actually is, that his relationship is somehow different than it actually is, that he’s happy, well adjusted and loved.

Cas comes over, surveying the finished product, “It was fine. Mrs. Johnson brought her dog Felix to the clinic again, issues with his breathing this time,” He says, “Dinner looks good,” He places a small kiss on the back of Dean's head, a small chaste thing that makes dean simultaneously want to melt into the contact and pull away like Cas is fire. Before he can decide, Cas is making the decision for him, moving a few steps away from Dean.

“Could you make an extra plate? Bart is coming over, he had a hard day. I hope that’s okay with you. He should be up in a few minutes.” Cas turns away before Dean could even answer, emptying tupperware from his packed lunch into the sink.The smile slips just for a second from Dean’s face, before he can school his expression into something more neutral. 

“That’s fine Cas,” It wasn’t. Not today. Cas must have heard something in his voice. He turned from the sink, giving dean a questioning look.

“I can tell him to go home Dean. Or I can go over there” He could feel Cas’ eyes boring into his back, seeking the answer that would make his life easier, and Dean was quick to give it to him, quick to try a please this wonderful, caring man in front of him.

“No! No, its fine! Really it’s fine Cas. Stay. Go get cleaned up, I’ll make up a third plate.” Dean put on a sweet, soothing smile. It wasn’t fine. It was far from fine. In the two short years Castiel Novak had known Bartholomew Harrison, he had slowly weaseled his way into their lives. The occasional Friday night dinner, turned into dinner every other day, then everyday. To Dean, it felt like Bart was always there, always looking for Cas’ company, something Cas was always willing to give to the other man.

Cas looked Dean over once more before heading to the bathroom to shower quickly. Being a Emergency vet wasn’t exactly the cleanest of jobs. Bart knocked 10 minutes later, Dean greeted him from the kitchen when He let himself into their apartment, trying to be civil.

“Hey Bart, How's it going? Do you want a beer?” Dean asked, reaching into the fridge to retrieve an unopened bottle of whatever nameless piss he had picked up from the store this week.

“Sure, thanks man.” Bart opened the beverage on the bottle opener above the trashcan before taking a sip of the amber liquid, “Where's Cas?”

“Bedroom, He’ll be out in a minute.” Dean took a swig of his drink, grimacing at the taste. It was bad beer to begin with, he had just made it worse by secretly trying to get smashed.

Cas came out of their room a few moments later, clothed in low hanging sweat pants and a plain white t-shirt, his hair was slightly damp and sticking up more then usual. He greeted Bart cheerfully, asking him how his day was, then gathering him into a hug that was, in Deans opinion, a tad too tight and a bit too long. 

Dean looked away from the too obvious display of affection, and busied himself with the third plate. He had a pit growing behind his sternum, a little black hole that left him feeling drained and repulsive inside. It ached in an acrid sort of way. He tried to convince himself that it was heartburn and not the shame, guilt, or regret that he felt. He brushed his hand over the middle of his chest, trying to dispel the discomfort. 

He tried to ignore the feeling while he brought the plates to the coffee table, but it only made it worse to see the pair quietly talking between themselves, with some nature documentary playing low in the background. 

“Eat before it gets cold,” He mumbled, before retreating to the kitchen to grab his own plate. 

He sat on the little armchair to the right of the couch, the closest spot to Cas without sitting on their small three person sofa. Dean attempts a few times to join in on the conversation, but the sinking feeling in his chest makes it difficult, like a blockage in one's throat. He gives up around 2:00 am, exhausted and feeling down right shitty. He’s had three beers, all topped off with a good amount of jack. He’s a little more than tipsy, but not quite drunk yet. One more beer should solve that, He thinks to himself.

Bart and cas are laughing at something on Bart’s phone, Its a video from what dean can hear, little indistinct voices humming from the tiny machine.

“What’cha guys looking at?” He asks.

“It's just something stupid on my Facebook feed, it’s nothing,” Bart Smiles at him “Oh shit, I almost forgot!” Bart leans over the couch and scrambles with the front pocket of his book bag, pulling out a small baggie of something dried and green, “Anyone want to toke up?” He asked waving the small bag in Cas’ face. Cas laughs, gets up and walks in the direction of the bedroom. Dean assumed it was to grab his ‘Box of Delinquency’. He emerges a moment later, with deans old tool box covered in dog stickers. He flips the lid and pulls out a few bits and bobs and sets them on the table.

“Babe, are you getting in on this?” He asks Dean, prepping a small amount of whatever strain Bart brought, in a grinder.

“Sure. But I’m gonna hit the hay after. I’m beat.” 

Cas bobs his head in response, then looks at Bart, “You good to go home after this?”

Bart agrees, but looks a bit sad at the idea. Dean finds a small amount of sick joy in his expression. He knows he shouldn’t, Bart’s still a human being, a lonely human being who doesn't really have any other friends besides Cas, and maybe his dealer with how often he visits.

Cas makes quick work of loading the gravity bong piece. It's a heavy metal thing in the shape of a teardrop, but with a hole through the fat end and the tail cut off. It cost them about 20 bucks at a nearby smoke shop, and Cas swears its his best ‘paraphinalic investment’, and Bart is fond of it as well. 

They crowd onto the small 8th floor balcony connected to the living room. There's mostly cushions and mats surrounding a low set table in the middle, with an outdoor rug covering the autumn-chilled concrete floor. It's a tiny cozy space that is almost only visited at times like these.

Cas pops the metal piece into an altered water bottle floating in a cylindrical vase full of water, then lights the top end and pulls up. The smoke that fills the bottle is thick and moves in an ungodly way. Dean can’t even see Cas’ hand on the other side. Dean tries to imagine that he can see shapes in the smoke. He brings his beer to his lips and swallows a mouthful of the bitter liquid, hoping that what's in the bottle will help him find the answers he looking for in the faux-cloud.

Bart goes first, pulling the smoke into his lungs in an impressive display. only coughing a little towards the end, but Cas is there to pat him on the back in sympathy. Cas is next, He refills the empty bottle with smoke, inhales in an equally as impressive display, sans the coughing. Cas repeats the process on the spent greens, getting one last pull from it. It's much less dense, more grey than white, he offers it to Dean. He inhales the smoke, nearly managing to breath in all of in, but his lungs seize up and the smokes comes tumbling out of his mouth with his harsh coughs. Cas laughs beside him and pats him on the back. 

Dean excuses himself when the worst of his coughing is over, and moves inside to finish the dishes before bed. He clogs up the sink, and turns on the tap to fill the stainless steel basin with lukewarm water. He watches Bart and Cas talk and laugh through the glass door of the balcony, there heads close together, knees touching in a familiar way. The hole in his chest grows a little larger, a little more sore then it was before. The feeling is muffled slightly by the alcohol and bud, just a dull ache to remind him constantly of the state of his relationship. 

The worst part is that Cas doesn't even notice the slow deterioration of their once loving union. He seems content, going to work, coming home to Dean, then quickly inviting Bart over for bud, or beer, or dinner, before going to sleep, most days of the week, which is fine Dean gets it, He understand Cas’ job is not the most glamorous, it's not easy, and he sees some awful things happen to wonderful animals and their people, but when the equation very seldomly involves affection that more than just a brief kiss in greeting, that bothers Dean. He doesn't like to admit it, but Dean needs touch, he craves it. He doesn't always like to talk about his feelings, he doesn't need verbal confirmation of Cas’ feelings for him necessarily. He needs to feel Cas cares with small gestures, the light brush of fingers on his lower back, cheek kisses, shoulder kisses, any kisses really, small smiles shared over a meal, being held close while relaxing, some form of physically intimate contact.

Cas won’t even sleep with him anymore. They still share the same bed, but Cas won’t touch him. It's been a little over a month and a half since they were together, and Dean hopes they never have sex again if it's anything like the last time.  
Cas had simply flipped him over after kissing Dean just on the wrong side of too hard, then biting him on the neck roughly enough to leave a bruise Dean didn’t want to look at in the days that followed. It was an alcohol infused fuck that ended with Cas groggily groping for Deans’ dick out of what felt like duty, rather then the joy of seeing your partner enjoying themselves, and jerking him off until they both came. Cas had then rolled of, flung his arm around Dean’s waist and fell asleep. Dean had stayed very still, Cas’ arm burning him were it made contact with his bare skin. He cried when he sure Cas was asleep, thinking about what he had done wrong to warrant the emotionless display of affection, trying to figure out why is felt like cas had used him then simply discarded him.

Dean felt something warm and wet on his stomach. The sink had overflown slightly tearing him away from his thoughts. He shut off the tap and drained the water until it was at a more manageable level before introducing a bit of soap and the dirty dishes. He was halfway done with the dishes by the time Bart and Cas came back inside.

“I’m gonna walk Bart to the Car Dean. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He picked up Bart's bag and slung it over his shoulder, before picking up his house keys and exiting the apartment, Bart yelling a small “Thanks for dinner” as the door closed behind them.  
Dean braced himself against the counter, dropping his head below his shoulders. He let out the breath he was holding in the form of a quiet, wet sob. They would be gone for about 40 minutes, maybe more. Then Cas would come back, pack up his kit of the coffee table, and fuck off to bed. What transpired between the two in there absence, Dean didn’t know. He could imagine though, Cas kissing Bart like he used to kiss him, like he needed to touch Dean to survive, like he was the only thing that mattered, like they were in love.

Dean finishes the dishes, and angrily wipes down the counters, trying to keep his tears at bay. He quickly stripes down to his boxers for bed, but instead of climbing under the comforter he normally shares with Cas, he pushing it out of the way of his side of the bed. He runs to the closet and grabs the soft throw blanket his mother gifted to him two Christmases ago, and wraps himself in it. He wills himself to fall asleep in the dark room before Cas gets back, but like most of the things he wants in life, it doesn't happen.

Cas climbs into bed 20 minutes later, he’s silent. Dean continues to pretend to be asleep, not wanting to cry if he tries to speak. Then Cas would see how absolutely pathetic he was, he would know that Dean knows what happening between Bart and himself, and he did nothing about it. He’s too weak, to dependent, too in love with a man that might not even love him any longer.

Dean tries not to cry himself to sleep that night. It doesn't work.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think. Sorry for all the errors, I'm planning on going back and resolving those.


End file.
